Ancient Druid. A.M.

I usually come to work around 5 in the morning. I jump in the shower, get dressed in sweats and drive through the still sleeping city I love so much. It takes me 10 minutes to arrive at my office versus the 45 it would take even an hour later. I crank up the music and let my little body and soul wake up with the sun.

This time is always so special to me. There is NO ONE around! Well, except for Bushman. Bushman sees me every morning with my hair still sopping wet, dragging my make up case, work clothes and hair dryer through the dark parking lot. Bushman is our resident homeless dude. He's been here for years. He lives by the river that runs behind our office.



How to describe Bushman..... He's got wild, wild hair, hence the nickname. He has the full on Grizzly Adams beard and a wild, untamed look in his eye at first glance. He always carries a filthy blanket over his shoulder. Bushman used to wait until someone entered our building in the am and would glide right in behind so he could wash up in the restrooms on the first floor. Since people were frightened of him, we upped the ante on our security system and Bushman pretty much stays away now.



I see Bushman almost every morning. I gave him money once. He grunted and accepted it, never once looking me straight in the eye. But I looked at him and saw a gentle giant of a man who somehow either chooses to live life outdoors, probably has mental challenges and lives on the fringe of society. Bushman does not appear to suffer from substance abuse. He seems wounded, shy and feral.



This morning, I jumped out of the shower and realized all my sweats were in the washer. Since it is cold outside and I don't like to put my work clothes on before I dry my hair in the office bathroom, I looked around and saw the black robe my friend loaned me for Halloween. Full on black with a hood, pointed sleeves and floor length, it was perfect to keep me warm while I made the dash from my car to the office. Besides, no one would be around to see me.....



I drove to work in my Druid robe, parked the car and grabbed my stuff to drag into the building. As I rounded the corner, I encountered Bushman sleeping on the picnic table in front. He opened his eyes as I approached and let out a little tiny scream. Not realizing I was wearing a black robe that probably resembled the Grim Reaper, I squeaked out a "Good Morning" in my high pitched voice. Bushman shook his head, mentally collected himself and grunted out a gruff phrase that might have been some sort of Good Morning back. Either that or "What the FUCK are you wearing?"



Not much is known about the Druids. They left no written records about themselves. The only evidence they existed comes from descriptions and stories from the authors of that time. I think about Bushman. No one really thinks about his existence. He is like a ghost passing through. No one even knows his real name. Maybe one day I will find the courage to ask him. Maybe he'll tell me. Maybe not.....

Wonder Woman and The Crotch Rocket

It's not easy being a SuperHero. There are people to save, enemies to fight, the Universe to save. Yeesh! And SOMEONE always wants to touch your magic lasso! Sometimes it should just be enough that you are a Superhero and you spend the day without saving anyone or anything. It should just be enough. Or maybe it should be that every once in awhile, your SuperHero status is reversed and you actually do more harm than good.....



Once I left Molly's around 1 a.m. It was a warm spring night, and I wasn't going out with the others to the Photo Finish, so I elected just to drive the short distance to my house still dressed as Wonder Woman. I was headed down the I-44 and that really curvy overpass when a guy on a Crotch Rocket came flying past He did not negotiate the curve well and slid about 50 feet until his bike came to rest in the middle of the road.



"Oh, shit!" I parked my car and immediately ran over to see if he was okay and offer assistance. Within 15 feet of him, I could literally smell the alcohol wafting from every pore in his body. He was passed out, but groaning. He had a MAJOR case of road rash from the tip of his ankle all the way to his thigh. His jeans were ripped open all the way.  I could see his Tighty Whities.



I stood there, not quite knowing what to do. I wasn't a SuperHero. I just played one five nights a week. I cautiously leaned over his body and peered into this face. "Ummm, hey are you okay?" My 20 yr old squeaky high voice sounded thin and tentative, not bold and deep like Lynda Carter's. Plus,. well, let's just say I wasn't packing the full on Double D's either.....The only thing I had in common with Lynda Carter was long, dark hair and blue eyes.



After what seemed like an eternity, but was really just a few seconds,Crotch Rocket Boy's eyes fluttered open. I was standing over him. He blinked twice and then screamed. "Whoa!" He shot straight up and started scooting away from me. I looked at him, concerned that he was moving when we hadn't established whether he had broken bones.



"Hey, are you okay?" I started to move closer to him. The bike was still running and I could smell the gasoline everywhere. The minute I spoke, he screamed again and grew more frightened. "Whoa, don't come over here." He yelled vehemently. He continued to back away from me by sliding on his rear towards his bike. He finally made it up on all fours and stood up. He placed his hands out when I again tried to approach and screamed again. " No, No, I'm okay. I didn't do anything, I swear!" He slowly backed away from me, taking care to keep facing me and not turn his back. "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa....wow....wow." He kept this mantra up as he picked his bike and tried to get on it. His eyes NEVER left me.



It was then that I realized that poor Crotch Rocket Boy, in an already drunken state, crashed his bike, probably hit his head, passed out and came to in the middle of a deserted overpass with WONDER WOMAN standing over him. Poor guy! And this Wonder Woman was young, naive and not even packing the proper SuperHero, ahem, rack. Al I had to offer was a golden magic lasso and a helping hand.



He somehow managed to get on his bike and drove off, not even looking at the road ahead, but continuing to stare back at me. I stood there in the cold spring night and watched him leave, certain that he would need psychiatric intervention after our encounter. Maybe not. Maybe he tells all his friends that he once met Wonder Woman. "She's not as big as she looks on t.v. and her magic lasso doesn't really work that well."

Don't Look Ethel

Our New Band. Don't Look Ethel

Coming to a Waffle House near you. Admission price: Anything off the $1 menu at Taco Bell or items sold in gas station bathrooms.

First Album: You Did NOT Just Run over that Squirrel

Songs:

"We Rode the Hell Outta the Weekend"

"Right At the Y"

"Parked on the Hose"

"4Weelin at the Crazy House"

"Texas Truck Nuts"

"Blowin' the Stank Right Off Ya"

2011 Miss Bigfoot Pageant Rules and Regulations

1. Please report Monday at 6am for Opening Number Choreography. Trixie from Trixie's Tap That Exotic Dancing School will be choreographing this year's dance to the song "Swinging."

2. When your name is announced at the Opening of the Pageant, please move forward to the center microphone. There will be twine taped to the floor in an X pattern. Place your right foot on the X and speak into the microphone. State the County you are representing and whether you are missing any of your social 6 teeth.

3. Gorilla Grip Glue has been provided to all contestants. It is STRONGLY recommended that you utilize this powerful glue during the swimsuit competition. It does wonders with bikini bottom "wandering."

4. Tuesday is the annual judging of the Bigfoot Festival Art Competition. All contestants MUST take part in judging the art. Yes, we know that only 2 people enter, but this is a vital and interesting tradition of the festival. Last year's winner, Myrtle Suggs and her watercolor of Bigfoot giving Miss 1984 a hickey was beautiful, poignant and realistic.

5. Please be mindful of the papparazzi and their constant stalking. Last year's unfortunate photo of Miss 1969 eating a big Texas Corn Dog nearly brought the pageant to its knees. (Of Course that begs the question as to whether Miss 1980 has ever gotten off her knees).

6. There will be ABSOLUTELY NO HAIR PULLING ALLOWED WHEN THE WINNER IS ANNOUNCED. Any Contestant who engages in this unseemly behavior will do 2 nights in County Lockup and 1 day serving meals at the McAlester Prison during lunchtime.

7. All Pageant contestants must report Monday to the Official Pageant Motel and reside their until Pageant Night. We have chosen LaFontaine's Fauxtel for this year. Please bring your own linens and bed bug spray.

Turn Up The Bad

Turn UP The Bad
Yeeehaw!!!!!

Yeah, I felt blue for about a minute
But the diva in me wants so bad to win it
Only thing to do is turn up the bad
Break out the leather to combat the sad

Goin' out drinkin' and stayin' out late
5 inch stilettos, now there ain't no debate
Listenin' to punk rock, gonna get out of line
Dark black liner makes blue eyes shine

Ain't no way I'll back down when it comes to these times
My chicks like the girl who might commit crimes
And if for a minute these blue eyes cry tears
I'll turn up the bad and order everyone beers

Let's go honky tonkin' and wear out these boots
Time to get back to my hell raising roots
Let's pull a Shania and write some new songs
Hell I gave em up once but let's smoke Marlboro Longs

Ain't no way I'll back down when it comes to these times
My chicks like the girl who might commit crimes
And if for a minute these blue eyes cry tears
I'll turn up the bad and order everyone beers

Last thing I'll do is think about him
Close down the party, strip naked and swim
So what I'm on Facebook in nuthin but heels
Got 3 dates lined up with some cute Navy Seals

Ya'll stick with me and you'll see how it's done
Ya turn up the bad and you have bad girl fun!

Late Night Delirium & Dirty Carpenters Lyrics.

Stayed up late doing financial reports and really, really tired. This week was kind of funky. It started with the unusual event at the Padres game, my "look the other way while you save the wild cats who live on your property" covert operation was exposed, and some other fun stuff. So I am gonna let stream of consciousness tweets from last night take over from here.



All nighter to finish reports due tomorrow. Reminds me of college - only not as fun, Need pot of coffee. End this fu#$ week already! : (



Cawfeeee tawk. Like buttah' Okay, numbers are floating off the page at me and I'm delirious. Hey that's a Prince song. #randomnightthoughts



Really! We spent $35 on a highliter set? WTH? R you using for makeup cuz basic pink or yellow work for most. I am just laughing. 64pack?



Hated the kid who had the 64 pack of crayons. I've got your burnt umber right here, kid. Along with your Snoopy lunchbox and your big chief



Ok, I am going outside 4 air Sleepy,intolerant & full of it. Evidently chatty as well. Why don't dogs talk? Why do birds suddenly appear?



Name every Carpenters Song you can in 40 seconds



"I'm on TOP of some guy looking down on creation & the only explanation I can find. Are the crabs I have found ever since You've been around



Late night delirium. Suck week. Padres game angst, operation save the cats exposed, missed opportunities. Only thing to do: massage & dancing! There! All better!

Life, Caterpillars and Sensitive Souls

The curse of being me is extreme sensitivity sometimes. It doesn’t happen that often- maybe once or twice a year. Can’t help it! Just the way God made me. What others gloss over or ignore, I tend to obsess about. Not gonna apologize. The very talented Gregory Page has a line in one of his most beautiful songs, “That ain’t right or wrong.”

Once we went to the track with House and all the peeps from the office. It was one of those “You spend tons of money with our company, and so we are inviting you to act like millionaires in the private luxury box” scenarios.

It was fun to have our own private bartender, betting window and food and drinks galore, but in the 8th race, one of the horses broke down in the last stretch. I was stunned. After the race, everyone flooded towards the exit, but I meandered down to the track and watched to see if the horse would make it. I couldn’t break my gaze as I watched them put up a tent around the horse and tend to him. I must have stood there for around 3o minutes until I realized I was the ONLY person left at the track and my party was probably waiting for me in their car.

They were. I pretended I got lost as I was loathe to tell them why I was really so late. We heard the Del Mar Race recap on the radio ,and they announced that the horse that went down in the 8th had been put down. God, I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. Not until I got to my own car and then I sobbed like a little baby. So silly, I know. Whatever! I am not going to apologize. Somebody needed to cry for the creature. Might as well be me.

Last night found me in a similar situation. During the 8th inning of the Padres game, we went up to the ladies room. There was a huge line and a Padres usher was directing people to use other restrooms. I heard her say, “Someone is passed out in there.” The person I was with looked annoyed and said, “Well, just step over her.”

I looked at my friend and remarked that it sounded a little more serious than just passing out. Don’t know why, but I thought of a story my friend told me about his grandmother having to step over deceased people to get water during World War 2 in Italy. In that case, it was survival. In this case, all that was being called for was for others to suffer s slight inconvenience out of simple respect and humanity to someone suffering from illness.

As we made our way back from the alternate restroom, I saw a group of paramedics wheeling a stretcher out. The patient was covered from head to toe- indicating to me that the person was dead. I looked at my friend in shock. There was a group of 20 yr old hipsters following behind laughing and snapping pictures-no doubt destined for Facebook or Twitter.

My friend shrugged and said, “Wow, that is sure a downer.”

Downer? Wow, Downer? I immediately grew tearful. No, I didn’t know the person, I didn’t see them pass out, I didn’t know about their world, but I couldn’t help feeling bad and saying a little prayer. It bothered me the rest of the night. I kept thinking about this person and their family and about how this person lost their life and people were laughing. Maybe I am just a tad too sensitive. People die every minute of every day. Don’t know why this struck me so profoundly.

As we were leaving, my friend remarked about a caterpillar she saw trying to cross between two grass areas on the concrete sidewalk where thousands of exiting fans were tromping and how it wasn’t going to make it. It didn’t really register until we had gone about 50 feet. I immediately slowed and contemplated turning around and trying to save the caterpillar, but I didn’t. I stood for about 30 seconds as people rushed all around me, caught in a swirl of indecision. I should have. It felt like saving the caterpillar would make up for the other loss that was suffered that night. And that is just stupid as hell, I know!!! Don’t freaking ask me why I made the correlation. I just did… And I didn’t act. I should have saved the caterpillar!

In the scheme of things, one sorry ass little caterpillar doesn’t matter. But I sure wish I would have stopped and done it. Maybe it is bothering me because saving the caterpillar would have meant having some insane measure of control over a life- any life. Maybe that’s it.........

The Greek name for a butterfly is Psyche, and the same word means the soul.

So the sensitive little soul I have says to the person who lost theirs last night: You are in my thoughts and prayers as well as your family. And to let you know that each and every time I see a caterpillar in need, I WILL stop and give aid. In your honor. It’s your legacy now. ……..

The Neighbor Dave Song

Ok, peeps...this is NOT a biography. I repeat...I just used some real life elements to write a poem(or maybe a song).... I have accidentally flashed my neighbor on more than one occasion. He's also seen me rolling around on the ground at 2am when I sprained my ankle letting Emily out to pee.   I got to thinking about how people meet and the things they do (Or DON'T DO ) for love....so I wrote this... What if a girl wanted to her neighbor to notice her, so she "accidentally" flashes him to get his attention? And so I wrote this....





Neighbor Dave, Neighbor Dave,

I could bring you peach pie

But why be so subtle when I could flash you my thigh?



I'd love to borrow sugar

Do you have white or raw?

Oh sorry bout last week

that day you saw me in my bra



Ah, Neighbor Dave..why can't ya just look and see?

 Won't  ya just look past the hedge and see my lawn for the trees?



I see those pretty blondes,

They always coming to our hood

Sometimes they knock on my door and

I tell 'em you moved.



Dark hair I know, but I've got clear sky eyes

Funny and quirky, yeah did I mention my sighs?

The kind that leave you breathless

and knowin' you just made me high



Ah, Neighbor Dave, why can't ya look down your drive?

And see me standing naked to let you know I'm alive.


Yeah remember  last summer when I fell and broke my wrist?

2 am and you sat with me, ya know you made my heart twist.

Pretended the drugs made me give you that kiss

But when you answered back I backed away from the bliss.....


Please look at me tomorrow when I pick up the paper
In a dress made so short,  it'll give ya the vapors.



Ah neighbor Dave. I'm a much braver soul

Come over for a little or the whole sugar bowl.

Ah neighbor Dave.............

The Camp Director

Complete opposites. Camp Director and Little Red Riding Hood. She's brainy, intellectual and serious! I'm A.D.D and don't care about most things.



Wary of each other, we bonded over a hellish Thursday at Molly's when 500 Shriner dudes descended upon our fine establishment. A 3 hour wait and every freaking Shriner in a Fez trying to slap their bumper stickers on every girl's ass in the place. She won my heart when she sharply dressed down a drunken FezBoy with the words, "Sir, if you come anywhere near me you are going to draw back a bloody stump."



I won her heart by calmly handling my 1st time running the podium while she handled the Club Door. We ROCKED that night! Somehow we managed to get every last wild ass Shriner into dinner on time. Newly ordained into the Pod position, we knew we had serious shoes to fill. We'd heard all about the greats before us like, Joanne Freeh, Petunia and our trainer, Hot lips Houlihan. At Molly's if you were great on Podium, and could handle crazy ass 2 hour Saturday nights, you could pretty much run the place and get away with murder.



Ever the little activist, Campy taught me to care a little more about the world and pay attention. Don't even start a debate with her. You won't win. Girl can bring it like no one else I know when it comes to issues in the world. In turn, I think I allow her to get in touch with spontaneity, laughing and going crazy!



First time I sang my dirty lyrics to "Pina Colada" on a slow Sunday, I thought she was gonna die. She pursed her serious little lips and then just CRACKED up laughing. I knew I had her. Then we started talking about boys. We both had just ended romances with our dream boys. We were walking wounded. We both went on a run of dating every bad boy we could find for a couple of years.



We became roomies and went through being dirt poor together. Trying to work full time and going to school meant eating our one meal of soup and salad every freaking day at Molly's. We prayed (and cursed) on a daily basis, hoping our cars would make it. Hers would not go in reverse. I think mine had an issue with forward at one point. Her car was a Ford Ranchero. She called it "Fucking Bitch"- FB for short. I called mine MALIBLUE- because you never knew if it would start or not.



Our apartment was in this old Victorian house. We had a bitchin' claw foot tub bathtub with a Kenny Loggins poster on the ceiling. Ahhhh Kenny. Which reminds me that Kelz taught me to harmonize. To this day, I can sing with her in perfect harmony. Our version of "Peace of Mind." is KILLER if I do say so myself.



Once Kelly and I were so overwhelmed with poverty, work and school, we talked one of the bartenders into giving us a 6 pack of Elephant Beer and went over to the bank parking lot by Molly's and drank it all down in like 30 minutes. Problem was that it was a Saturday and we were due back at Molly's for 5 p.m. opening. We sheepishly called Dr. Feelgood, who was Service Director for the night (and our really good friend), and he came and got us. You don't want to be tipsy on a 2 hour wait Saturday Night. Not when you're running the Podium. Somehow, with the help of the good Dr, we muddled through. Kelly went home early. We were both ahem "flirting" with Upper Management, so we got away with it. That and the fact that we could rock that Podium/Club Door like champs!



Through thick and thin, we have stayed best friends. She put up with me teaching her 3 year old to blow on the dice while playing CANDYLAND and saying "Luck be a lady tonight." He repeated the phrase all day the next day- which happened to be Christmas- in front of his very, very strict Baptist Great Gran. I put up with her exasperation at my packing habits (throw it all into whatever happens to be handy) and lack of organization.



When I took on raising my friend's little boys, she didn't ask the million questions everyone else was asking. She just listened, advised and somehow understood it was something I had to do. She was AWESOME! She got me through that one like a trooper! She is an advocate for the children of teen parents by profession and is so good at what she does. She is someone who really does make a difference in this world.



We can make each other laugh like there is no tomorrow. She has the uncanny ability of knowing when she needs to give me a call. It is weird. She is dialed into my psyche. She will call me on my bullshit faster than anyone. I can also tell when she needs a little crazy ass note or fun phone call.



She's coming this weekend!!!! I love her and know we will have the best time. We'll drink margaritas, hang out at Torrey Pines, read trashy magazines, talk about the world and just revel in friendship!



Camp Director.......

Mammary Memory

Thinking about being 9 and Fr. Chapman asking Bruno B. and me to read at 10 am mass. Ummm talk about major playground cred for AT LEAST a week! Then we found that one of the readings contained the word "Breast." Oh, hell no! No self respecting 9 yr old says breast in front of the world. I was a mess all week thinking about it. When it came time to read, I jumped up and pretended to be confused and read the non mammary reading. Sorry, Bruno. I'm thinking that I heard you worked at a topless bar for awhile...... I owe you.

Art McGowan Should Friend Me!

Ahhhhh, Art McGowan. Class of 76, senior stud for the ages, the ULTIMATE Mount Saint Mary's Rocket. Five reasons he should friend me...


#5. That small little scratch on the side door of your pristine 76 maroon convertible Corvette? May or may not have been due to me leaning over it to toss you a note and the zipper of my freshman cheer skirt catching on the door latch. So, ok, I had to have someone cut me out of the skirt, jerk it free and walk back to the school from the hallowed senior parking lot clad only in Danskin cheer tights. I DID later earn the honor of class favorite. Maybe that whole event was a blessing....

#4. Sure, everyone likes to credit Greg Robinson for the miracle, come from behind win by the Underdog Rockets over the Millwood Falcons. I ALWAYS correct people and tell them the real story. How you rallied an uninspired coach, a lackluster team of louts, who just wanted to let the game clock expire so they could get to Shakey's, and a despondent water boy by jamming a cleat in your wrist, drawing blood and working out the winning play on your white football pants and saving the day.

#3. Due to your heroic feats on the field, you had a slight injury and had to ride the elevator to class with Sister Justina the elevator operator for a week. I quickly manufactured an injury and happily doused myself with Charlie perfume for a pre 4th hour ride for a solid week. Ok, so maybe the last day I passed nervous freshman gas and when you wrinkled your nose, I rolled my eyes and gave Sister Justina a look of per disgust. I'm quite sure that the smell of Charlie and tacos still makes you think of her.

# ‎2. Hey, tell your dad I'm sorry about the time Lisa Worley and Trish got me all liquored up on an ounce of Bacardi and dared me to ring your doorbell and flash you. How was I to know that your dad would answer?

# ‎1. You can friend me with complete confidence in the justice system. They have anti-stalking laws now.

Smelling The Spelling Test

All memos today will be produced on Big Chief Tablets...No copy machines are available. You must use the mimeograph machine and make dittos. The good news is that everyone will get high off the chemicals of their spelling test and produce beautiful art, music and writing. The bad news is we will flunk the spelling test

Sweet And Sour

.

Roller coaster kind of week! You know how they say when you lose a love, you shouldn’t listen to the radio? There will be that random song which rips your heart out and serves it up with a side of salty tears. Yeah, it’s like that when you lose a love- no matter how you lose ‘em.



My week has been like that. Week - how ‘bout life? All of our lives are like this. Nothing will teach you to live in the moment like life! It will kick your ass hard and then envelope you with love, laughing, dancing, singing and magic, awesome sauce.



This week I got a hard kick in the ass over my sweet Jeannie. She’s my sis in law. She’s more than that! She was my extra sister. She was the “Oh, hell yeah you are going to go take your driver’s license test NOW," drink a little, smoke a little, get out of your comfort zone a little instigator we should all be so lucky to have!



For some reason, this week the wound of losing her was ripped wide open over and over again. Whoever murmured that platitude about closure is a moron! There is no closure! The wound stays. Maybe over time, it’s less painful, but you cannot go to the ER and have them stitch up this gaping hole.



Perhaps, because I am prone to joking around and try to keep sadness or darkness at bay, life decided that I need to acknowledge the wound a little more and pay heed. It started Monday, when I was elected to carry out a little family tradition that Jeannie always did. Happy and honored to do it, but it opened up that wound and let it bleed.



Instead of carefully selecting IPod tunes for my run this week, I took a chance. Yep! I could have just clicked to another song, but somehow that just seemed cowardly and false. It seemed like it was meant to be. Maybe I needed to let it go. I had never even heard this song before, as it was a fairly new album download. So I let the song play and Wednesday saw me running down the path with tears streaming down my face. People were staring. “Why the fuck is this chick running down the path crying like a freaking drama queen?”



And then there was today. Went to FEDEX to drop off an overnight package for my niece, Jordan. The guy pulls up my account, sees the address and prints out the label. As he shoves it across the counter, I see the name of the Addressee: Jeannie Hazelton. Arrrgh! RRRRRIIIIP! I then remember that I sent Jeannie tickets to see Poltz at The Blue Door to celebrate remission a couple of years ago I quietly ask them to change the name. It felt like I was wiping away her essence by having them change the name; that I was acknowledging the loss and the finality of it. Kind of silly and sentimental, but that’s how it felt.



They guy is like, “Are you sure?” And I almost yell! Susie, who is almost always unfailingly polite to everyone, gets a little grumpy! “Yes, I am SURE!” I glare at him.



As it is not in my nature to get sideways with people, I feel the inexplicable need to explain. WTF?!?! “Umm, sorry. It’s just that she…well, she is not with us, umm she is gone…umm she is deceased and seeing her name would just open up the wound for her kids.” I can’t even look at him while I am mumbling all this shit. I am an emotional, unhinged freakazoid who’s been released to wander about in public places…



He nods and prints another label. It felt so, I don’t know, so FINAL.



He then reaches across and briefly touches my hand. “Hey, I understand. That was hard. I am sorry for your loss. It’s cool that you are looking out for those kids. I can’t say that anything will be okay, but I CAN say that you are lucky to have that kind of love for someone.”



So true, Kevin from FEDEX, so true... And thanks for extending a little sweet dose of humanity in the course of your day. May good karma come to you always…..

MEDICINE
Steve Poltz

“And you were still alive and you greet me with a hug.”

This medicine is kicking in and gives my heart a tug.”